Purple Summer
by Candyland
Summary: When someone unexpectedly drops back into Layton's life, the good professor finds himself with yet another mystery on his hands. And this one is personal.
1. Partings and Meetings

AN: Yes, yes, another story. I know. There's actually a bit of a tale behind this one, which I will put at the end of the chapter. Also - **THIS STORY CONTAINS A SPOILER FOR GAME THREE. **Or at least a spoiler in the sense that it's more or less told to you in the trailer, but a spoiler it jolly well can be called. So yes, here we go. I don't own Professor Layton!

**Partings and Meetings**

"Professor?"

Layton looked up from his book at the sound of his title, and smiled at the girl wandering into the office with a tray in her hand. It was only upon catching a whiff of the fragrant scent of tea that he realized he was desperately thirsty. "Flora, I think you might know me better than I know myself," he chuckled. He marked the page and closed the book.

She smiled as she set the cup down beside him. "If you've been in here reading for more than two hours, tea will become a necessity," she said with just a hint of smugness. "Because it means that you've probably lost track of the time and have forgotten that you are thirsty." She sat in the chair on the opposite side of the desk with her own cup.

He had the grace to look sheepish. "Ah, well…perhaps." He took a sip, thankful (not for the first time) that for all of her earlier mishaps in the kitchen, she had at least mastered the proper brewing of tea.

After a moment, Flora shifted in her chair and sighed. "I still feel strange sitting here."

"Why?"

"…this is Luke's chair."

The tea cup paused, poised halfway to Layton's mouth, and after a moment lowered back to the desk. The click was accompanied by a sigh. "Flora, my dear, Luke has been gone for quite some time." He thought a moment. "It's been well over a year."

"Seventeen months," Flora said automatically, sipping her tea. Upon noticing the Professor's startled look, she smiled. "I've kept track from the letters he's sent. That's all." Her smile faded. "Although I really can't believe that it's been that long already."

"Hmm…now that you mention it, we haven't received word from him for a while, have we?" Layton said.

"Two months."

"…Flora, my dear, we must find you a hobby."

"He was so religious about it before, though," Flora said, proving her growing skill at ignoring jibes like that. "It just seems odd that he would stop. It's certainly not like Luke." She sighed. "I do miss him."

"As do I," Layton said with all of his usual practicality. "But as they say, life is a series of meetings and partings. We have parted. That is the way of the world." At her look, he elaborated. "Of course I am sad about it, but it's a part of life."

"That does not mean that I have to like it," she replied. She looked like she was going to say more, but the conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door. Flora frowned and got to her feet. "I'll get it."

As she moved out of the room, Layton glanced up at the clock. "Odd," he murmured to himself, seeing that it was well after eleven at night. "We don't usually have visitors this late…perhaps it's a client…" He took another sip of his tea—

—and nearly spit it across the desk when he heard Flora scream.

Before he even had time to think about it, he was practically jumping over the desk. "FLORA!"

-o-

At least it had stopped raining.

That was what he told himself, at least, in a vain attempt to keep himself moving. But if he were being completely honest with himself he would have also admitted that it was not a terribly comforting thought. It had been raining for far too long a while earlier, and he was still soaked. And it was dark out to boot. None of this made for any sort of comfort.

Added to the fact that he was still not completely certain where it was that he was going, and there was the perfect recipe for a very frightened young man wandering the darkened streets. But something told him that he should keep moving, so he kept repeating silly platitudes to himself to keep himself going along. And besides, he was sure that he had a destination. A place he should go now. Somewhere safe. He just had to get there.

He just had to find it.

…wait, was that it?

He stopped and stared up at the building next to him for a long moment. It took him a moment to realize that for the first time in what felt like a very long time, he was seeing something that looked genuinely familiar. He knew this place, somehow or another. And there was a light in the front window, so someone had to be home.

Maybe someone in there could give him directions. That would be lovely.

His legs were growing increasingly numb, and he was so tired. But he managed to walk up to the front door, despite the slow stiltedness of his steps. He really needed to get where he was going soon; he needed to get some rest before he fell over.

Once there, he hesitated for a moment, then decided he really had nothing to lose at this point. One shaky hand raised and knocked on the door.

As his hand dropped back to his side, the door in front of him spun. Everything went out of focus, and he felt himself start to sway back and forth. This was bad. This was not good at all. Perhaps he had been more exhausted than he had thought…he just needed to lie down for a moment, then he would be fine. He just needed directions…

It was a lost cause. He felt himself fall forward and slump against the door. A moment later, that door opened. With the support gone, he pitched forward once again, this time falling from the cold and dark into warmth and light, where he hit the ground. He could not move.

As the light once again gave way to darkness, he thought he heard a voice…

-o-

It did seem terribly strange for someone to be coming so late, but it was not unheard of. Flora made her way to the front door with the intent of showing the visitor in (it was most likely be someone here to see the Professor about something urgent, she thought), and then going to bed.

Humming to herself, she opened the door.

And instinctively screamed when someone fell past her, ending up in a heap at her feet.

She heard the Professor shout her name as she dropped to her knees for a closer look. Her first glance told her that it was a young man in very wet clothes, but not much else. For a second, she sat there with her hands not quite touching the young man's back, at a loss.

Then once again, instinct took over, and she started shaking him, trying to get a response. "Are you all right?" she said, hearing the Professor's footsteps thudding to a stop beside her. But as she tried to rouse the unconscious person, his head rocked to one side, and she got a good look at his face.

She knew that face.

And before she could stop herself, she let out a loud squawk that froze Professor Layton in his tracks.

"LUKE??"

There was a brief moment of time where everything seemed to just sort of stop.

Flora was alternating between wringing her hands and trying to shake some life into the unconscious boy on the floor before her. Luke was not moving at all—and by simply moving a few steps to one side, Layton could see the boy's face and confirm, for himself, that it was Luke. He was wearing a light blue sweater, not unlike the one Layton remembered being his favorite, and khaki pants. And, oddly enough, he was barefoot, to say nothing of being soaked.

In short, the young man looked a mess.

And then the Professor realized that he was just standing there. He quickly shook himself and took action. "Flora," he said, stooping to roll Luke over and gather the young man up, pulling him away from the door. "Close the door and lock it. Quickly."

The instruction seemed to startle her out of her daze as well (not that the Professor could blame her for feeling dazed, he wasn't feeling too steady on his feet himself at the moment), and she hurried to do as he said. While she was locking the door, he managed to stand up with Luke cradled carefully in his arms.

Somehow, he remembered his former apprentice not being quite so heavy.

Granted, as he took another look at Luke, he realized that he remembered Luke not being so tall.

Still, he pushed those thoughts aside for the moment. Reminiscing could wait until other, more pressing matters were taken care of. With Flora right behind him, he hurried Luke back into the study, mentally thanking whoever was up there that he had always enjoyed the classic comfort of a good book by a warm fire. It was certainly a warm enough place, and Luke was freezing.

"Flora, I'm sorry to be so demanding," he said. "But can you go and find a blanket?"

She didn't need to be asked twice, and darted up the stairs, probably heading for the linen closet where the spare blankets were kept. Now alone, Layton carefully lowered the boy to the floor, stretching him out on the warmed rug in front of the fire. Finally, he could actually take a look at his former apprentice, though the flickering shadows kept the finer details hidden from his eye. His initial impression was proven to be correct: Luke certainly had gotten taller, and his face was a bit thinner.

But more importantly, what in the world was going on? Luke was supposed to be overseas with his parents. Why was he here? What untold circumstances had led to him literally falling down on their doorstep? And…okay, he had to wonder why Luke wasn't wearing shoes, but that seemed the absolute least of the worries and mysteries surrounding this moment.

And through all of this, Luke had not moved. He had shivered a bit as Layton held him, and made a couple of soft noises, but he had shown no signs of returning to consciousness. He had most likely been awake long enough to knock on the door, and if his impromptu entrance was any indication, he had passed out just after that. It was fortunate that he had seen the office and made it here before he had fallen. Who knew what could have happened had circumstances turned out differently.

Hopefully he would awaken soon, and then he could tell them what had happened. Somehow, Layton suspected that it would be quite a fascinating story.

Footsteps padded into the room behind him. "Here," Flora said. She thrust the quilt towards him and helped him wrap Luke up as best they could. That done, she moved behind the Professor and put her hands on his shoulders. "Is he all right?"

"I'm not sure," Layton sighed. "We should call for the doc—"

Luke groaned.

And moved.

He was shifting beneath the blanket, his face scrunching and contorting as though in pain. And after a moment, he opened his eyes. They fluttered at first, opening halfway before closing again. His second attempt proved more successful, and he actually managed to get his eyes all the way open. He blinked several times before his eyes finally seemed to focus in on the two beside him.

"Luke…" Flora said, letting out a relieved sigh.

It took a few seconds for him to wiggle his way into a sitting position, and even then he swayed. Layton reached out an arm to steady him, and Luke wound up leaning against the Professor for support. He was murmuring, his eyes still trying to shut. He was exhausted.

After what seemed a very long time (as is common when one is waiting for a particularly delicious explanation), Luke finally spoke, his voice soft and tired and unusually timid. "Where am I?"

Not an unfounded question. Layton managed a smile. "The office."

"Luke, are you all right?" Flora spoke up from behind the Professor. Her hands were wringing together.

He tilted his head to look in her general direction for a moment, and then slowly said, "…Luke…"

The Professor suddenly had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. The way Luke said his own name was suspect, slow and deliberate, as though it was the first time the word was rolling off his tongue. This gave him a very, very ominous feeling…

And he was again proven horrifically right when Luke looked up at him with hollow, lightless eyes and, in that same quiet, timid voice, asked, "…is that my name?"

* * *

**PS.** _YES I WENT THERE! Okay, here's the story: a while back, on the PLFM on LJ, someone prompted for "epic reunion fic." I took it as an excuse to write this story idea, which I'd had for quite some time. I had the whole thing planned out, wrote quite a bit on the meme, and then...I stopped. Got sidetracked by other things, and just never got around to finishing it. A few weeks ago I remembered it and pulled it out, and thought I might as well finish it because I have a pretty sweet ending in mind :D Hope you'll stick around!_

_Thanks for reading! Much love!_


	2. Sickness and Health

**AN:** Whoo, another update. I actually have the first...five chapters of this completed, I think. Those are the ones I had done for the fan meme, and I'm starting on the next one now. I'm thinking that this story might wind up in the eight or nine chapter range, but we'll see. Depends on where I feel like sticking a cliffhanger in. But anyway, on we go. I don't own Professor Layton! Thanks, everyone!

**Sickness and Health**

Leaving a very confused Luke in the care of a very confused Flora, Professor Layton went to make a quick phone call to an old friend. All things considered, this was a proper course of action to take. Unfortunately, it was late, and judging by the man's brusque, gravelly tone when he answered, the call had woken him up. "Chelmey here."

"Inspector, I apologize for calling so late."

He didn't even need to identify himself. "Layton. Do you know what time it is?"

"I do, but there is something I must discuss with you," Layton went on in a rush. Regardless of the situation or circumstances, the police should be informed. "You remember Luke, my apprentice?"

"The boy? Yes…" Chelmey's last word broke off into a yawn. "He left, didn't he? What of him?"

"Well, Inspector, he's here right now."

"…since you're calling me, I'm betting this isn't just a visit."

"No," Layton glanced back towards the door that led to the office, where Flora and Luke were. "It seems that he knocked on the door, and then lost consciousness. When Flora opened the door, he fell right past her. Gave her quite a scare."

Chelmey seemed to be waking up a bit now. "At the risk of stating the obvious, that's highly unusual."

"There's something even more unusual about it," Layton went on. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger; he was getting a bit of a headache. "After Luke woke up, not only could he not tell us how he had gotten here, he couldn't tell us his name."

"…you cannot possibly be serious, Layton."

"I am completely serious, sir," Layton said. He glanced back towards the door again, then lowered his voice as he continued. "Whether or not that is true remains to be seen. I have not spoken with him much yet, and goodness knows I do not wish to accuse him of lying. But it is all very peculiar."

"Do you want me to come by now?" Chelmey asked. The background noise seemed to be shifting, indicating that the man was moving around more now. "I'd need a few minutes."

"I think it would be all right if you waited until tomorrow, Inspector," Layton sighed. "But given the circumstances, I felt I should alert someone in law enforcement immediately, and after several cases, I just happen to know your phone number by heart."

"I'll be sure to have it changed, then," Chelmey replied. He sounded both amused at the fact that the Professor knew his number, and slightly relieved that he wasn't going to have to go traipsing out in the middle of the night in the rain. "I'll come by in the morning after I check in at the office. Where was the boy living? I'll put in a wire, see if I can get some information."

"His parents relocated to New York City in America," Layton said. He rattled off the address, and heard the faint scratching of a pen that indicated the necessary information was being taken down faithfully.

"Thank you," the Inspector said. "If he's been reported missing, there should have been some sort of investigation done. Might be the answers you're looking for. As to whether or not he actually forgot anything, I'll be the judge of that." Chelmey was practically bristling over the phone.

"I do appreciate this."

"It's my job. Now if it's fine by you, I'd like to go back to bed."

"Thank you again, Inspector. We'll expect you tomorrow."

An exchange of goodnights, and the conversation came to an end. As Layton hung up the phone, he couldn't help but breathe a small sigh of relief. At the very least, he had some help in the matter.

-o-

The rest of the night ended up passing in something of a fog for Layton, both because he was trying to figure out what in the world was going on, and because the more he tried to piece the odd puzzle together (though it had not taken him terribly long to realize that he was missing far too many pieces), the worse his headache became.

It also did not help matters that this came at the end of a long day, and he was already tired to begin with. It took him a bit of time to get Luke fixed up with some dry clothes; the perpetual bachelor, Layton was again thankful that he was no slouch at domestic tasks like, say, doing a very quick sewing job to adjust adult-sized pants for a fifteen-year-old.

By the time he got Luke settled into what had once been his bedroom and was now the guest room, and sent a worried Flora to bed in her own room, he was flat-out exhausted. And he had learned a few things that helped to keep sleep at bay for a while longer as he pondered over them.

Further conversation with Luke seemed to drive home the truth of Luke's question: he truly did not seem to know who he was, what his name was, where he was, or more importantly, how he had come to land in a heap across their doorstep. And no amount of questioning, prodding, or cajoling could bring about any indication of anything different.

But one thing was for certain, as far as Layton was concerned: he did not believe the boy was lying.

Oh, the thought had crossed his mind. But he knew Luke very well. And while he was willing to accept that the young man here was not exactly the same young man he had watched get on that boat nearly so many months before, there were certain base facts and habits that he was quite sure would not have changed in that short of time.

For one, Luke was not that great of an actor. Realistically speaking, Layton couldn't even think of any actors to his knowledge who could manage to fake that particular look. The hollow eyes that lacked any light or life, the blank expression, even the tone of voice…

Talking with the young man had left him convinced that Luke was telling the truth.

Which answered no questions, really, but brought up dozens more.

Still, he was awake and talking and even moving around a bit, so he did not seem to be in any ill health or suffering from any injuries, and that was a good sign. But Layton preferred to err towards the side of caution when the situation allowed for it, and so, first thing in the morning, he summoned the doctor to make sure. It would probably be a while before Chelmey got there; he had said he would go to his office before coming by.

Doctor Kelly was a man Layton had known for a good many years, as a friend and a physician. He was a friendly man, older and a bit on the rotund side, with white hair and spectacles that he had a habit of fidgeting with when he got nervous or excited. He was at the house promptly at half past eight, bag in hand and familiar smile in place. "Ah, Professor, good morning," he said as Layton ushered him in. "I was a bit surprised to get your call this morning."

"I appreciate you coming on such short notice," Layton closed the door. "I know I didn't go into too much detail over the phone, but here's the long and short of it." Very quickly, but without leaving out any of the important details, he filled the doctor in on the events of the previous evening, up to and including the fact that Luke seemed to remember nothing of himself.

"I see…" Doctor Kelly said as Layton's narrative drew to a close. His smile had quickly faded into a more somber expression as the seriousness of the situation became clear to him. "Very peculiar."

"As I'm sure you can imagine, I'm very concerned," Layton said. "While Luke appears to be more or less healthy, I am certainly not a doctor, and would like an expert's opinion."

"Which is why you called me."

"Exactly," the Professor nodded. "Please, just make sure he really is all right, at least physically. And if there is anything that seems out of place, be it injuries or what have you, please make a note and let me know. Inspector Chelmey is going to be stopping by sometime this morning. Any information we can give him would surely be helpful."

"I understand," the doctor nodded. "Where is the young man?"

Layton led him to the study, where Luke was sitting on the couch with Flora beside him. For a lack of anything else to wear, he was back in the same clothes he had arrived in the night before; at least now they were dry. After he was done with the doctor and the inspector, the Professor had every intention of taking Luke out to find some proper clothes.

"Luke, this is Doctor Kelly," Layton said.

Though he did not appear to remember anything of himself, the manners that Layton had worked to instill in Luke seemed to be perfectly intact. He quickly rose and offered a polite handshake to the doctor. "I'm pleased to meet you."

"Likewise, my boy," Kelly said cheerily, returning the handshake with gusto. "We're just going to make sure that you're in good health." He glanced towards Flora and Layton.

Layton got it. "We'll leave you to it, then." He put a hand on Flora's arm. "Come along."

-o-

The doctor was still with Luke a short time later when there was another knock at the door. Flora had been pacing around and wringing her hands, and seemed to welcome the interruption. She jumped up and, in a complete abandonment of her usual ladylike behavior, all but sprinted out towards the front hall to answer the call.

Layton followed with a bit more decorum. He already knew who was out there, and was proven right when he arrived to see Flora ushering Inspector Chelmey inside and closing the door. He was carrying a leather-bound portfolio, which Layton took as an indication that the man had some sort of information on the case. Perhaps he had been able to get ahold of law enforcement overseas.

After greetings had been exchanged, he took a moment to ask Flora if she would go upstairs. She obeyed, though she admittedly did not look terribly happy about being left out of the proceedings, and Layton was quite sure that he was in for quite the grilling after the two men had taken their leave.

After she had gone, he led Chelmey to the kitchen, and when an offer of tea was politely refused, the two men took a seat at the table to discuss business. "I am under the impression that you have some information for me, Inspector."

"I do," Chelmey produced the portfolio and opened it as he continued. "I was able to get in contact with the police in New York, and I was right. They do have some information on your young man."

Chelmey skimmed over the pad of paper inside, covered in handwritten notes, for a moment before he began. "Luke Triton, resident of New York City, disappeared a week after his fifteenth birthday. He's been missing for three months." He traced his pen down the page to mark his place as he went over everything he had. "He was reported missing by his mother. After he went to bed one night, she heard a noise in his room. She went in, and found his bed empty and the window open. Upon further inspection, she found a ransom note."

Something inside Layton turned cold. "A ransom note?"

Chelmey nodded. "Handwriting comparisons were done, and it was concluded that the note could not have been written by Luke or either of his parents. Police arriving at the scene noted signs of a struggle, including a broken jar on the floor. At that point, it became a kidnapping case rather than a runaway."

"Why would it have been thought a runaway?" Layton asked.

"The sergeant I spoke with didn't elaborate on why he would say that," Chelmey admitted. "But he's going to get in touch with the parents and put them in contact with me tomorrow. Maybe they'll be able to shed more light on the case. In the meantime, he's also going to notify them that Luke's been found alive and well, if quite a long way from home."

"I'm sure they'll be quite glad to hear it."

He closed the portfolio. "But nothing here really suggests how a fifteen year old boy vanishes from his bedroom in New York and reappears three months later on a friend's doorstep in London."

"Hopefully the doctor's report will shed some light on this."

As if the statement itself had somehow summoned the man, they heard the sound of a door opening, and Kelly's voice calling, "Professor? A word, if you please."

In short order, the three men (Inspector, Doctor, and Professor) were congregated at the foot of the staircase. "What have you found, Doctor?" Layton asked.

Doctor Kelly looked particularly somber as he removed his spectacles and slowly began to speak. "He does not seem to be physically ill in any way. But he is almost shockingly thin, and I'd be willing to wager that it's been quite some time since he had a proper meal. Why that is, I cannot say. But also of note is the fact that while he was quite pleasant and polite, he was quite resistant to the idea of being touched or removing his shirt."

Chelmey made a small 'hmm' noise at that.

"Perhaps he was just shy, which is not out of the question given his age. But having met this boy before, it does not seem to square with the impressions I had when I met him," Kelly went on.

"I would have to agree," Layton nodded, remembering the time he had taken Luke to the beach for the day. Luke and shy were two words that did not belong anywhere near each other.

"Furthermore, I did as you asked, Professor, and looked for anything out of the ordinary. And there were visible injuries. Cuts, scrapes, bruises, small burns, nothing that would be at all fatal or even serious. But they would be painful. And two things in particular stood out."

"What were they?" Layton pressed.

"A few of the bruises," Kelly explained, turning his spectacles over in his fingers. "One on his back that was very large, and almost looked to be in the shape of a man's boot."

Chelmey blanched at that, and Layton let out a startled, "My word…"

"And the other bruises were the ones I found on his wrists and ankles," the doctor continued. "You probably didn't notice them, Professor, given the late hour and the fact that he was wearing long sleeves and pants, but they are really quite clear, and quite severe."

Now Chelmey cleared his throat. "It's probably obvious, but what is your diagnosis for those?"

"To me, it looks like he was bound somehow," Kelly said. "I could not say if it was tape, rope, or whatever else, but I would say his hands and legs were tied, probably tightly. And for them to be that dark, I would also be willing to wager that he struggled at least somewhat." Again, his spectacles turned over in his fingers, and he dropped his gaze to study them. "Given the sum of the superficial injuries, it is my opinion that this young man was held against his will, and probably beaten or otherwise harmed by whoever it was that was holding him."

"…that sounds like torture," Layton said as an involuntary shudder ran down his spine.

"That could very well be one way to put it, Professor," the doctor said solemnly. "While I do not claim to be a doctor of the mind, I also tried to ascertain the extent of his memory loss. He could recall basic facts, such as the capital of England, the queen's name, the capital of America. But he could not tell me his name, his age, any details about his family."

"He could not, or he would not," Chelmey interjected.

"Inspector, I understand your position, but I do sincerely believe that Luke is not misleading us," the Professor said anxiously. "He is not acting like himself at all. Look at his eyes—there's nothing in there, not like there used to be. And furthermore, I said that I was contacting the police. The Luke I know would not have let a joke go that far. Never."

Layton looked like he wanted to say more, but he fell silent when the Inspector waved a hand. "Layton, you know I trust you and your judgment. But you're also quite close to the boy, which could very well be clouding your judgment," Chelmey pointed out. "I'll decide for myself, and I'll report what I find to headquarters and to the boys in New York. So if it's all right, I'd like to have a word with the boy."

Professor and doctor stood by the stairs and watched helplessly as the stubborn Inspector headed into the room for what was sure to be tantamount to an outright interrogation.

-o-

Luke glanced up as another person entered. It appeared that he had spent the few minutes after the doctor's exit getting himself redressed and resituation, and he was sitting back on the sofa as the gruff-looking man came into the room. He quickly stood and extended a hand with a polite smile. "Hello. I'm pleased to meet you."

The gesture admittedly surprised Chelmey a bit, as he had met the young man before, but then he remembered that this boy was supposedly without any memory of such things, and so he accepted the handshake. "Likewise. I'm Inspector Chelmey, with the London police."

The boy's face actually lit up. "You're with the police? That's wonderful!" Luke said, unwittingly throwing the seasoned officer off-balance. "Maybe you can help me, then! You see," he looked down, "I'm lost. I don't know where I am, and I don't know where I'm supposed to be. Miss Flora and Mister Layton were kind enough to let me sleep here last night. They're very nice people. And they said that my name is Luke."

Chelmey swallowed hard. "You don't remember anything at all?"

Luke shook his head, and Chelmey saw what Layton had been referring to: the hollow look in the boy's eyes was positively unnerving. "I'm sorry, sir. But I can't remember anything at all. Although…"

"Although what?" Chelmey said, suddenly suspicious.

To his surprise, Luke actually chuckled and rubbed at the back of his head; he looked sheepish. "This will probably sound a bit crazy, but I have this strange urge to tug on your face. It's the silliest thing."

The Inspector stood there for a moment, then nodded. "Luke, we will do everything in our power to help you. In fact, I should be getting in touch with your parents tomorrow."

Luke's jaw dropped. "M-my parents?" Just as quickly, his smile faded. "I can't remember them at all…"

"It's all right. We'll get it taken care of, one way or another." Chelmey quickly cleared this throat and shoved his hands in his pockets. "That's all for now. Thank you." And he quickly turned on his heel and left the room, shoulders drawing up almost all the way to his ears.

Before either of them could say anything or ask a single question, Chelmey sighed. "I owe you an apology, Layton. You were right. He's not in there."

Layton paused. "What convinced you?"

"Aside from the eyes?" the Inspector shook his head and actually chuckled. "It's the most ridiculous thing, but he spoke of you. Said you were nice enough to let him stay here last night. And he actually called you 'Mister' Layton. Not Professor." He sighed. "That kid would never have called you that."

"…I told him what he could call me last night," Layton mused, almost to himself. "He asked."

"Well," Chelmey righted himself and coughed. "I'd best be getting back to headquarters. This is quite an odd case, to be sure. Should be interesting to see what comes of it. Layton," he gave the Professor a measuring look, "I'm going to leave him in your custody for now. I trust you to keep an eye on him. And I'll be in contact. We'll expect your full cooperation and assistance while we piece this together."

"Of course," Layton nodded, and saw the Inspector out.

"I'll be taking my leave as well," Doctor Kelly said, replacing his spectacles on his nose. "Please keep me informed if there are any new developments." He glanced back towards the door. "That poor boy…I'll help in any way I can."

"Thank you, Doctor." For the second time in as many minutes, Layton saw his company out.

No sooner had he closed the door did Flora appear. Her arms were crossed, her foot was tapping, and her expression was one that indicated she would not take no for an answer. "Tell me what's going on!"


	3. Trust and Fear

**AN:** ...so yeah, I really do have this fic done through chapter five. I just got distracted by shiny objects and haven't gotten around to posting more. Epic fail, self, epic fail. But anyway, here's chapter three. Hope you enjoy it, and thanks for reading! I don't own Professor Layton. I'm just playing hide and seek with his top hat.

**Trust and Fear**

"I'm sorry to be so much trouble, sir," Luke said for the…goodness, how many times had he apologized in the last hour or so since they had gone out? Quite possibly a dozen or more.

In some way, it bothered Layton that he had lost count. But it bothered him more that despite his repeated reassurances that there was nothing to be sorry for, the boy kept offering those apologies. "Luke, my boy, as I told you before, you have no reason to apologize."

Every other time, Luke had nodded and seemed to concede the point, if without seeming convinced. But this time he actually deviated from the pattern when he said, "But sir, this seems like an awful lot…" He was looking down at the items in his arms as he said that.

It had taken a bit of time to get things calmed down at home. Flora would not be put off any longer; she wanted to know what was going on, and she was not willing to accept 'no' or 'later' as answers. And Luke had been very quiet, even as Layton handed him a pair of shoes and told him that they were going out to find him some things.

And for the entirety of this trip, Luke had barely spoken, save for those repeated apologies. It was worrying, to say the least. This withdrawn, melancholy young man seemed such worlds away from the cheerful, inquisitive boy who had bounced along beside him, solving puzzles and asking question upon question about anything and everything that piqued his curiosity.

Then again, how would it change him to lose his memories, his sense of self, his name?

He really couldn't say.

"Luke, it's no trouble," Layton said, pushing his own discomfort at the notion of the change. "If it's a concern of finances, then rest assured that money is no object. And I would rather you at least have some clothes and shoes." Amongst other things, of course. As the young man had been entrusted to his custody and care, he was going to see to it that Luke was cared for. Just as he had in the past, when he had called the boy his apprentice.

As before, Luke seemed highly dubious. "If you say so, sir…"

"Professor. Please," Layton said.

"Sorry, si—I mean, Professor," Luke quickly corrected himself.

Taking the small victory for what it was and letting the rest of the matter go, Layton smiled and gestured towards the front of the store. "Shall we?"

Luke allowed himself to be led to the front of the shop, where the purchase was made: clothes, shoes, and basic neccessities. Layton did notice that in his choices of clothing, Luke had gone for the same things he had favored before, choosing primarily blue and khaki and white. It was a simple observation, but perhaps indicative that the boy he knew was still in there somewhere.

With the bags containing their prizes securely in hand, they left the shop. "Is there anything else we need?" Layton asked. A glance at his watch proved that it was already mid-afternoon.

"No, no," Luke said quickly, looking down at the bags in his hand. He seemed very agitated. "You've done more than enough for me si—I mean Professor."

Layton smiled. "Are you hungry?"

The nervous look on Luke's face spoke volumes as to what his answer would be before the words actually crossed his lips. But as he opened to his mouth to offer a fervent denial, his stomach also decided to speak up and growl noisily.

Layton arched a brow, visibly amused.

Luke glanced down, visibly embarrassed.

The Professor glanced around, and spied a café. "Shall we get something to eat, then?"

"I-if you like…"

**_-o-_**

It wasn't until after they sat down that Layton became aware of another discrepancy between the Luke he remembered and the Luke sitting across the table from him.

The Luke he remembered was a vacuum on legs, a bottomless pit of a stomach that was never completely sated. Teenaged and pre-teen males, the Professor had quickly learned, tended to be walking, breathing appetites.

The boy across the table had ordered something small, and even then was merely picking at it, barely eating anything. He had to be hungry; his stomach had betrayed that much. But he was reluctant to admit to it or to eat. He was resistant to the idea of admitting that he needed or wanted anything.

Layton had been puzzling over it for quite some time now, since he had suggested this outing that morning after the doctor's departure. It bothered him, and had been eating at him more and more as he observed what he would classify as odd behavior.

But it wasn't until he watched Luke poke a piece of lettuce with his fork and glance up at the Professor nervously before actually popping it into his mouth that he realized what the problem was.

Distrust.

Like a wild animal finding itself in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by unknown people, Luke had fallen back on the most natural and basic of instincts. And that instinct was suspicion. Everything was foreign. Everything was a potential threat. Everything was a possible trap.

After a moment of consideration, Layton decided to just go the direct route. No sense in beating around the bush. "Luke, my boy, I have a question."

Luke glanced up from his plate. "Yes?"

"Are you afraid of me?"

Luke dropped his fork to his plate with a clatter as he nearly choked. "N-not at all, sir! Wh-why would I be…" He looked up at the Professor and trailed off when he saw that the man did not seem upset. The boy's gaze dropped back to the table, his hands folding in his lap. "I…I'm sorry, sir…Professor…"

Layton was careful to smile and appear calm. No sense in betraying his worry now, as it would just alarm the poor boy further. "All things considered, you have no reason to be trustful of anything."

"But you've been so kind to me," Luke said softly. "And I feel like I should be able to trust you. I mean…I went to your house because it looked familiar. That should account for something, shouldn't it?"

"Perhaps. But Luke, you couldn't even remember your own name when we brought you in. The fact is that you don't know who we are. Anyone in such a strange situation would be disinclined to be trustful of those around them," Layton pointed out, calmly and rationally. He took a sip of his tea, and managed not to wince. It was not bad, but it was not quite up to his usual tastes. "And even between old friends, trust has to be earned, my boy. It doesn't happen in a day."

"Still…"

"Think nothing of it, my boy," Layton said, finishing off his tea. "I can only offer my assurances that you are safe, and that you have nothing to fear from Flora or myself."

Luke didn't look completely convinced, but he nodded. "Yes, Professor."

"Very good. Shall we go home, then? I suspect that Flora is wondering where we are."

**_-o-_**

"Sir?"

"Professor," Layton responded automatically, and immediately wanted to smack himself in the forehead for it. He glanced up from the book he had been so engaged in to address the speaker directly. "I apologize, my boy. What can I do for you?"

Luke looked faintly uncomfortable, though he had to feel a bit better being able to sleep in pajamas that fit him, rather than some quickly modified clothing scrounged from the Professor's own closet. He padded across the floor in bare feet, and stopped beside the chair that had once been his. "Would you like some company?"

"Of course."

That was good enough for Luke, it seemed, and he sank down into the chair with an almost exaggerated care. His hands were folded neatly in his lap; the Professor could still see the harsh bruises on his wrists peeking out from beneath his sleeves. Doctor Kelly had said that those were a result of him being tied or bound somehow. Who had done such a thing? And why?

But there was no further time for Layton to ponder the matter, as Luke tilted his head to the side and regarded the man curiously as he spoke up again. "What are you a professor of?"

"History and archaeology," Layton said with a smile. "With perhaps a dash of puzzle solving on the side."

"And…I was your student? Your apprentice?" Luke pressed.

"Yes, you were, until your family moved overseas."

"Hmm…" Luke looked down for a moment, then glanced back up. "Puzzle solving?"

"Ah, yes. I love a good riddle," Layton said. A thought struck him then, and he folded his hands on the desk. "Would you like to try one, my boy? You used to be quite good at these." Perhaps doing something that had been so commonplace to him before would help trigger something.

He was pleased when Luke nodded. "Yes, si—I mean, Professor."

After searching for a moment, Layton found a suitable puzzle. The one that he slid across the table to the young man was a number puzzle, involving a square grid and numbers. The goal was to put the numbers in the grid so that each row and column added up to the same number.

And as Luke picked up the pencil, Layton observed.

Luke murmured to himself, tapped the pencil against the paper, nearly wrote something, then shook his head to himself and reconsidered. But for a moment, just a few brief seconds as he finally wrote his answers in the small squares, he looked like the Luke Layton remembered. He was smiling, albeit a small smile. His eyes no longer had such a hollow, empty look to them, and there was a sparkle there that had been notoriously absent up until that moment.

Layton's stomach clenched when Luke put the pencil down and handed him the paper with a soft declaration of, "Professor, I think I've solved it." The voice was a few tones deeper with the onset of adolescence and approaching adulthood, but it was really exactly the same.

A quick glance at the paper proved that the boy had, indeed, solved it. "Excellent, my boy!" Layton said with an approving nod. "I am pleased to see that you have not lost your touch."

For a fleeting second, Luke almost seemed to glow at the praise. And then it was gone, and the shy, withdrawn boy was there again. He hesitated, and then asked, "Do you have another?"

The next hour or so went along in that same pattern. Layton kept Luke well supplied with a series of puzzles and riddles. Luke would solve them; some took a mere glance, while others took several minutes. And when Layton approved, there would be a flicker of that same happy glow at the praise.

It wasn't until a while later that Layton realized it had been several minutes since the last request for a puzzle. He looked up from his book, already fairly sure what he would see. And he was correct: Luke's head was down, his cheek resting on the desk. The pencil rested loosely in limp fingers while his even breathing rustled the paper beside his face.

He had fallen asleep.

Layton sat there for a moment, just watching the steady rise and fall of the boy's back and thinking of everything in the world and nothing at all. But finally, he sighed and closed his book. A moment later, after the lights were out, he gave the young man a gentle shake. "Luke? Come now."

In past years, he could have picked his apprentice up and carried him to his room, and in fact on a few occasions he had done just that when Luke had fallen asleep in some odd place. But now he was more supporting Luke while the young man stumbled to the guest room (his former bedroom) more or less under his own power.

Another oddity became evident: as a child, Luke had tended to curl up into a tiny ball beneath the blankets. Now as a teenager, he seemed to emulate a cat, and sprawled out in a tangle of bedding in an apparent effort to take up more space than was probably possible by the laws of physics. It was actually rather amusing.

Layton sighed and took his leave, closing the door behind him.

There was nothing more to be done tonight. A good night's rest would do them all some good, and perhaps there would be something new waiting for them in the morning.


	4. Questions and Answers

**AN: **Another chapter, for great justice. After this, I have one more that's already written and ready to go, and then we're into the new stuff, the parts that never quite made it to the LJ meme. Because I fail at life like that. Hope you enjoy it, and thanks for reading! I do not own Professor Layton or anything related to it.

**Questions and Answers**

Two days had passed.

Two days since the doctor's initial visit and Layton's first conversation with Inspector Chelmey regarding Luke's mysterious appearance. And there was no change, no new information, no nothing to help them solve the puzzle of Luke and his memories and what had befallen him. The boy was quiet, withdrawn, and still prone to that wild-animal shyness.

It was with all of that and more hanging like a weight on his shoulders that the Professor went and answered the door that afternoon. He was startled when he opened door and saw who had knocked, as he had not been expecting anyone. "Inspector Chelmey! To what do we owe the pleasure—"

"I have some information for you, Layton, and I think you'd better hear it right away," Chelmey cut him off in a curt voice. "Mind if I come in?"

The Inspector did have a tendency to be rather gruff and short, Layton knew, but this seemed even more so than was normal. And it concerned him, especially because the only reason that Chelmey would be stopping by at this point in time was because of the situation with Luke. If there was something bad happening with that situation…

Layton stepped aside and gestured for the man to enter. "Please, come in." They made their way into the study. The children were upstairs, so there was no immediate chance of being overheard—although the more he thought about it, the more the Professor realized that he really wouldn't be able to call them children for very much longer.

"I apologize for being sudden, but I spoke with Luke's parents this morning," Chelmey said as he took a seat, having just waved aside an offer of tea. "His mother had quite a bit to say, and I thought you should hear it."

"Of course," Layton said. "Especially if it's something that could help us figure out this whole mess."

"Well, I don't know how much help it'll be, but here's what she said," the Inspector pulled that same portfolio out and opened it and began to read his notes. "As I believe you already know, his mother reported him missing. The boy said goodnight and went up to his room to go to bed. A while later, his mother heard a noise. She went in, found the bed empty and the window open."

Layton nodded. "That's what you told me before."

He went on, "Well, what I didn't know at the time was that her first thought was that he had run away. It wasn't until she saw the note and some signs of a struggle that she realized that might not be the case, and called the police."

The Professor's eyebrows leapt towards his hairline in surprise. "That seems a bit odd. Why would she believe him to have run away?"

Chelmey hesitated, then sighed. "I hate to tell you this, Layton, but…the fact is that your boy, Luke, has not been settling in well in his new home. Not at all. Making trouble, not doing well in school, acting out, all sorts of things. He's actually gotten into some pretty big trouble a couple of times. When he was gone, his mother thought that this was just another stunt."

It was one of the few times in his life that Layton found himself at a complete loss for words. Luke? His apprentice, Luke? Making trouble? He just gaped at the man across the desk.

"And when the police were called, they were told the boy's history, and their first instinct followed the mother's," Chelmey said, continuing his brusque habit of referring to Luke as simply 'the boy.' "They had an expert take a look at the note left at the scene, and compare it to a known sample of his handwriting. They were able to confirm that he did not write it. His parents and a few friends were also eliminated."

"My word…" Layton breathed.

"Further examination of the scene also revealed that none of the boy's belongings appeared to be missing," the Inspector kept going, flipping a page of his notes. "As near as his mother could tell, the only clothes missing from his closet were the ones he had been wearing that day. And the detectives also found scratches on the window's lock, a sign of forced entry. All the signs pointed to a forcible removal, rather than a willing exit."

"And that's when it officially became a kidnapping, instead of a runaway or a missing person?"

"Correct."

"What did the note say?"

"A ransom demand. A sizable sum of money, to be left in a certain location. If the money wasn't paid, or if the drop-off site was monitored, then the boy would die," Chelmey said, flipping another page. "Naturally, the police watched the site."

"And the money?"

"Vanished, somehow," the Inspector said. A disapproving tone slipped into his voice. "The officers on scene said that no one approached the drop-off point, which was a locker in one of the train stations. But long after the appointed time, they looked, and the money was gone. But there was another note."

"What did this note say?"

"It said that they had the money, and appreciated the cooperation. But that's where it all gets even stranger. They said that the boy would be returned to his parents at a later date," Chelmey went on. "They said that they needed to keep him for a while longer, though they did not explain why. There has been no further contact from them."

"That's everything?"

"That's all the sergeant in New York told me."

Layton looked down at the desk and raised a hand to massage the bridge of his nose as he tried to process everything he had just been told. "This makes no sense at all."

"I admit that I've never seen a case like this," Chelmey admitted. He closed his portfolio. "A boy goes missing from his room in New York, and months later falls down on an old friend's doorstep on the other side of an ocean with no memory of who he is or how he got there."

"It sounds more like something out of some novel, doesn't it?" Layton mused. "A storyteller's concoction." He sighed. "Forgive me, but I'm having difficulty believing what you told me about Luke. How he's been behaving." He shook his head. "That just…does not seem like the Luke I know. Or rather, the Luke I knew."

The faintest flicker of sympathy moved across the Inspector's face. "Moving that far away had to be a shock for him, Layton. Fact is that something like that can be enough to change anyone's behavior."

"Nothing about him right now seems to be the young man I taught," Layton said quietly.

Chelmey looked off to the side. "Every harlot was once a virgin, as the saying goes. People change. Sometimes for the better, and sometimes for the worse. Model children can grow up to be murderers."

Layton didn't reply to that. The idea of Luke growing up to be a killer was one he did not even want to entertain, not even in a jocular or hypothetical sense. That was a far cry from what was happening now. The current events were more than enough for him to puzzle and worry over.

"I feel sorry for you, Layton," Chelmey said, standing. "This whole thing has to be very trying for you. Dealing with the kid when he's like this has to be troublesome. Don't know how you're managing it."

"Not really," Layton said. "It's more perplexing than anything else. And goodness knows that I have always been one who enjoys the baffling." He stood. "Thank you for stopping by, Inspector. Please let me know if anything else comes to light."

"Likewise. Call me if there are any developments," Chelmey agreed. A walk to the door, an exchange of farewells, and the man was gone, leaving Layton to further ponder over the situation with his former apprentice, and the odd circumstances that had led them to where they now were.

**_-o-_**

Luke carefully crept away from the top of the staircase and tiptoed down the hall towards the bedroom that had been slated as his for the duration of his stay here. Instinctively, he made certain to step around a certain floorboard. It felt like a habit of some sort; he suspected that the floorboard in question was a squeaky one, which could betray a person's location. A particular nightmare if one was trying to be stealthy.

How he knew this, he did not know.

Regardless, he made it back to his room without alerting anyone to the fact that he was sneaking around, and closed the door. He had come to think of this pleasant room as his haven of sorts. Once he walked in and closed the door, it was safe and private; neither the Professor nor Miss Flora ever entered without knocking and receiving permission. If he did not invite them in, the door remained closed.

Their respect for his privacy was merely one on a growing list of reasons why he was letting himself trust the two who had opened their home to him. It was the physical demonstrations of concern for his well-being that had convinced him. His instincts had been telling him that since day one, but on a purely mental, defensive level, he had been unable to do it.

He still wondered if perhaps he was giving in too soon.

But now he was saddled with a new idea, courtesy of the Inspector. Chelmey was his name, wasn't it? He was the one Luke had met the morning after he had woken up in a house that was both familiar and alien to him, the one who had told him that he would help him find his parents. He did not doubt that much, at least, because the man was a police officer and the police were there to help people in trouble. Luke knew that much, at least.

Except now the Inspector's words were bothering him. He hadn't mean to overhear the end of the conversation between the Inspector and the Professor, truly he hadn't. He had just been on his way to the stairs to go down and see if he could find some tea or milk or something to drink, and he had heard the strains of conversation. Not wanting to interrupt, he had waited and involuntarily listened.

…was it true what the Inspector said? Was he really troublesome to the Professor?

Luke sat down on the edge of the bed for a moment before he let himself tilt over sideways. The quilted blanket was a deep burgundy color, and the fabric was soft and worn. It smelled oddly nice, Luke decided as he took a deep breath. Right now, it was sort of tempting to just curl up in that blanket for a while and try very hard not to think too much.

The Professor and Miss Flora had been so kind to him, from the moment he had woken up in the study, laid out on the floor beside the fire with a warm blanket tucked around his soaked form. But really, as he thought about it, they had been kind to him before that. He had fallen in the doorway; they had to have moved him, presumably because it was warmer and safer than lying prone on the threshold.

They had opened their home to a stranger (at least, he felt like a stranger, but they seemed to know him—it was a small comfort to think that at least someone knew who he was when nothing else in his world made sense), taken him in, made certain he was cared for. And they had asked nothing in return, unless one counted his company and conversation. Not that he really had anything to give, but…

Knowing all of that made the Inspector's words sting even more painfully.

Was he really that much trouble to the Professor?

The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Professor Layton had been forced to deal with so much since he'd made his unexpected arrival: doctors, police, contacting Luke's family, keeping an eye on him, dealing with him with that seemingly unending patience, and whatever else had gone on around here that Luke was not privy to.

And somehow, even if it was true, he doubted Layton would tell him so if he were to work up his nerve and ask directly. Layton was a very kind man; he would not want to further burden one whose shoulders were already buckling beneath the world's weight.

It was with those cold thoughts chilling him down to the pit of his stomach that Luke fell asleep. He dreamed strange dreams of Ferris wheels and chasing cats.

**_-o-_**

When Layton walked back into the study, he was only slightly surprised to see Luke curled up on the couch with a book in his hands. A closer glance proved that it was a puzzle book, and a very old one at that. It was one that had been a favorite of Layton's when he was young, and one that he had subsequently shown to Luke, who had loved it just as much.

This was getting to be a much more common scenario than it had been. The first few days of Luke's unannounced stay with them had more or less consisted of Luke hiding in the guest room, emerging only when necessary. Sometimes he didn't even stick his head out for meals.

But time, patience, kindness, and the Professor's almost eternal good humor seemed to have earned the young man's tentative trust. The first common ground had been puzzles; mindteasers shared late at night, just before bed, had formed a very careful bridge between them, and it had gone from there, although very slowly.

He was beginning to come out of his shell here and there. He still remembered very little of himself, but he was becoming more social. Layton counted it as a great blessing, and encouraged it. So Luke had taken to spending much of his time sitting in the office, reading or engaging in quiet conversation with his temporary guardian. Most nights, Flora would join them.

It was a lot like what had been in the old days, before Luke had left. Things were even starting to feel the same. Luke himself was even smiling now and then. They were all happier than they had been since that first night. Lighter. It felt like a family again.

Flora was also enjoying a book, albeit a slightly different genre of novel. There had been an earlier discussion between Luke and Flora as to how she could read that stuff (after he had flipped through a few pages—something about a girl and a vampire and a mention of sparkles), and her simple explanation of asking if he and the Professor ever thought about anything other than puzzles and riddles, so leave her alone thank you very much.

Layton was in his usual seat at his desk, enjoying the comfortable quiet tempered by the gentle flutter of turning pages. It was a pleasant evening, and for a little while, at least, they could all forget the cloud hanging over the little brownstone: the mystery of Luke's memories, of his arrival there, and of what was going to happen next.

Such a wonderful peace.

The Professor was just about to suggest a cup of tea (and perhaps some biscuits or sweets as a treat) when the calm was completely shattered. It shattered at the same time the window did.

Luke and Flora both immediately and instinctively dove forward to escape the shower of glass raining in on them. They dropped to the floor, hands and arms flinging upwards to cover their heads. And there was a loud clunk as a large rock hit the floor beside the two.

Layton was on his feet in a heartbeat, diving past the desk and rushing to their sides. "Luke! Flora!" When they both glanced up at him with wide eyes and assured him that they were all right, he leapt towards the window and looked out through the gaping hole in the glass, searching the darkened street for any sign of a culprit.

There was no one there. The sidewalk was void of people, although he did hear some voices out of sight asking what that sound was. No sign of a vandal or ne'er-do-wells or anyone else who might have been responsible for the destruction. Granted, Layton had been living in this building for a good number of years, and he had never known vandals to strike this neighborhood. It was a pleasant place, relatively free of crime or problems. Which left him to wonder if maybe…

He glanced back at the two children still on the floor, and at Luke in particular. Then his eyes again went back to the window. Was there a connection?

A chill ran down his spine, a feeling he had long associated with being watched. It was a very unpleasant sensation, and he stared out into the twilight, trying to find the source of it. But he saw no one. Still, he knew that someone was watching him. Someone who was decidedly not a friend.

While the two teenagers stared at the large rock on the floor in horror, Layton stepped back from the window, his foot bumping into the stone. He glanced down at it, cleared his throat, and nervously said, "Well, ah…I don't think that goes there."

Luke's face was ashen; he shakily got to his feet, glanced at Flora, and let out a panicked squawk. He pointed at her with one finger. "Flora, you're bleeding!"

Given her overall shock at the crash and the broken glass and everything else, it wasn't really surprising that she had not noticed it yet. It was only when Luke let out his exclamation of surprise that she seemed to belatedly realize that there was something warm and sticky running down her cheek from a deep gash on her forehead.

If nothing else, the renewed sense of panic over Flora's admittedly minor injury provided a very welcome distraction from the destruction as both professor and apprentice rushed to alert the police and the doctor.

**_-o-_**

Doctor Kelly finished securing the bandage over the deep cut Flora's forehead and patted her shoulder in a paternal gesture. "There. You'll be good as new in no time at all."

She winced at the pressure, but nodded. "Thank you."

"I do appreciate you coming out here so late, Doctor," Layton said solemnly.

The Doctor stood and removed his spectacles, still smiling. "Oh, no trouble. It's fortunate that I live close by. And I very much doubt that she'll have a scar or anything. So no harm done." He glanced towards the damage and frowned. "Well, perhaps except to your window. Hershel, have you called the police?"

"I have. They'll arrive soon, I'm sure."

"How is the young man?" Kelly asked, turning his glasses over in his hands. "Still in good health? Any new developments? Has he remembered anything at all?"

"Luke is fine, or as fine as can be expected," Layton said. "He still remembers nothing." He sighed. "He was getting better. More comfortable, at least. He was starting to act more like himself. Now…"

"…he's regressed?" the doctor suggested.

"He's withdrawn again," Layton said. "I hate feeling this helpless. I just wish I knew what to do for him. It feels like we're taking one step forward and two steps back."

"I understand why you would feel that way, but it might very well be that there is nothing you can do right now. Just be patient, Professor. Things will get better sooner or later," Kelly said.

"I hope you're right."

Kelly yawned and returned his spectacles to his breast pocket. "I'd best be off. It's quite late. Call me if there's anything else I can do to help."

"Of course, doctor. Thank you," Layton said. He saw the man out, and was just in time to answer the door for the officer sent out to take a look and take down a report on the incident.


	5. Safety and Danger

**AN: **And with this, we reach the end of what I had written for the PLFM on LJ. After this chapter, everything that's written will be new stuff, leading up to the ending I've had sitting in the back of my head since I started this fic XD Hope you enjoy the new chapter, and thanks for reading! I don't own Professor Layton.

**Safety and Danger**

That was it.

That was the last straw.

After the doctor and the police had left, they had helped the Professor to hang a sheet across the window. It was a temporary fix, to be sure, but it would at least offer a barrier between them and the outside world. Layton had sent the two children to bed with explicit instructions to lock their doors. That was an order that Luke was all too happy to obey; he had been doing that here since night one.

Not that he thought the Professor or Flora were any danger to him. But he just…felt safer like that.

But what had happened tonight was the breaking point. It had decided him on something he had quietly been debating over since he had inadvertently heard the exchange between Inspector Chelmey and Professor Layton the other day.

Alone in the room, behind the safety of a locked door, he quickly changed into pajamas, but he did not go to bed. He was exhausted, but sleep was going to have to wait a bit longer. It wasn't like he had anywhere to be in the morning. There were preparations to be made.

Luke didn't have much at the moment. And most everything he had now came from the Professor's kindness, or small things he had found here and there that seemed familiar, and he had just sort of adopted them. But perhaps in doing this, he was actually repaying the man's generosity. It was certainly going to save him some trouble in the long run.

Were he to step back and really look at the situation, Luke probably would have realized that he was not thinking clearly. But at the right time and under certain circumstances, even the most most rational of minds can fall prey to the most insane of plans, and find those plans to be perfectly logical. And that was what was happening now.

He had some work to do, and to his mind, he had precious little time in which to do it.

…for the Professor's sake.

_**-o-**_

Another late night at work, Layton reflected wryly. It seemed like he was spending nights like this more and more frequently, burning the midnight oil to keep up. Just because he was trying to deal with a lot of personal matters at the moment did not mean that the work stopped.

A glance at the clock proved that it was going on one in the morning. He was tired, working in his shirtsleeves, with his beloved hat tossed (carefully) on the sofa in the room. But he was almost done, just a bit more before he could go upstairs and get some well-earned rest.

But it was late, and he was tired, and so his mind was trying to run off on every possible tangent, none of which involved work and the finishing thereof. But for the most part, he kept thinking about what had happened two days before: the large stone flying through the front window.

He'd called in a favor to an old friend, gotten some strings pulled, and gotten the window replaced the day following the incident. It made him feel a good deal safer to have the window there, though the incident had proven that having the glass there was a dubious safety at best.

Still, he was grateful for it right now, as he could hear the first faint patter of rain falling outside. It picked up quickly into a full-out storm. What a night. What a week. What a world, sometimes it seemed.

While he had done his best to keep his outward appearance as close to normal as possible, inwardly he was seething, almost cursing whoever it was that had committed the act of vandalism. And it was not because of the window, nor was it because of the cost.

It was because of the effect the incident had had on Luke.

Flora had been a bit sullen for a bit the morning after, but she had a resilient streak in her when the situation called for it, and she had bounced back to her normal self quickly. The cut on her face would heal, and there had been no further unpleasantness; thus, the incident was placed from her mind for the moment in favor of other things.

But Luke had reverted, practically back to the state he had been in upon his initial arrival. He was silent, withdrawn, nervous. He jumped at shadows, and feared the dark. It was as though in that single instant, with the shattering of that window, all of the progress that had been made with him over all the days he had been there was undone.

It infuriated Layton in a way that precious few things ever had.

With a sigh, he gave up on the work. It was not going to get done tonight. He was too tired, too distracted to give the matter at hand the attention it needed. Best to just put it aside and go to bed. A good night's rest usually did wonders to clear his head; he would attack this again in the morning.

As he was shuffling papers around and ordering things to be returned to come the morning, he heard a sound just outside the door of his study: the distinct squeak of a certain floorboard in the corridor.

Layton froze and listened. He swore he could hear the faintest of footsteps out there.

Given what had happened to the window, the Professor was already on edge. And now he was hearing sounds. If there was someone in the house right now, he could only assume that they were not friendly. And he had two children upstairs to protect. He would only let someone harm them if that person had to step over his lifeless body to do it.

He grabbed a poker from the fire place. It would suffice well enough as a makeshift weapon, should it come to that. And he crept out into the hallway, taking care to avoid the noisy floorboard. He could hear faint movement in the kitchen; the door to that room was slightly ajar. And it sounded like whoever was in there was…opening the back door?

Tightening his hold on his weapon, Layton took a deep breath and flung the door open.

There was, indeed, someone in the dark room. That someone was standing beside the back door, which was indeed open to the night and the rain. And that someone let out a startled gasp and whipped around to stare at Layton with wide eyes.

For a moment, no one moved.

Then Layton felt the tension flood out of his shoulders in relief, feeling a bit silly at getting all worked up over nothing. He tilted his head to the side and regarded the other person curiously. "Luke? What are you doing, my boy?" Perhaps he was just tired, but it wasn't until after he asked the question that he noticed a few odd facts about the scenario in front of him.

Luke was not dressed for bed. In fact, he was fully clothed, even wearing a hat. And he had a bag tucked under his arm, the strap hanging from one shoulder; it looked like the messenger bag he had usually carried with him when they had traveled. Layton had found one in the boy's room after Luke had left, and just didn't have the heart to get rid of it. So it had stayed tucked away in the closet. The bag looked to have plenty in it.

And the young man was standing beside an open door at night, having actually tried to sneak out there while Layton was in his office. All of these points added up to something being very, very wrong.

The bag slid from Luke's shoulder and dropped to the ground beside him. He took a step back, towards the door and the world beyond it. And Layton realized what was going on a split second before the young man moved further. "Luke, wait—"

But Luke had already turned, and was tearing out of the house into the rain.

There was a loud clatter as the poker fell from Layton's hand and hit the floor, but the Professor barely heard it. He was already starting to run, sparing a moment of thanks to whoever was up there that he was still wearing his shoes. At the same time, that little analytical corner of his mind that seemed to take note of everything, no matter how bad the situation, wondered if a lack of shoes would have stopped him from sprinting out there into the wet and the dark.

Almost immediately he noticed something about Luke that he had not had occasion to realize before: in tandem with getting taller, the young man had gotten faster. Much faster. Those long legs were serving him well. Coupled with the fact that he did have a slight head start and the fact that the rain was coming down in sheets, Luke had a surprising advantage.

The thought that he might not catch up to Luke, that the kid could actually get away and vanish possibly for good, made Layton grit his teeth and press harder. He could barely see through eyes clouded by darkness and rain, but he kept his eyes on that speck of blue and white ahead.

"Luke, STOP!" he called after the chase had gone on for a block or so. Try as he might, he wasn't as young a man as he had once been, and dogged determination could only match the energy of youth for a time before the body ceased to match the spirit.

To his amazement, Luke did as he was told. He stopped and whipped around. The glow of a streetlight across the road caught the young man's features, highlighting the desperate glare being directed towards his pursuer. "Why are you following me?"

Layton jogged a bit further before he stopped, keeping enough distance between himself and his former apprentice to be safe. He again thought back to Luke's mindset upon his arrival here, what he had privately thought of as "wild animal shyness." And like a wild animal, if he felt cornered or threatened, it was possible that he could run again, or even lash out.

After taking a very short moment to suck in a few gasping breaths (good heavens, his throat was burning), he drew himself up to his full height and calmly replied to the query with a question of his own. "Why are you running away?"

"That's none of your concern," Luke said, the very picture of defiance. But there was a very slight tremble in his voice to betray that he was as frightened as a stag in the hyena's den.

"I'm afraid it is my concern, my boy—"

"STOP CALLING ME THAT!" Luke exploded. His hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"…why?"

Luke shook his head and took a step back. "Leave me alone. I need to g-go…"

Aha. That stutter. It spoke volumes. "The only place you need to go, Luke, is home." It seemed fairly reasonable to him. He needed to get Luke calmed down, find out where this madness had come from and alleviate it, and then take him back to the safety of home. But Luke's next words froze him colder than the rain ever could.

"I don't have a home."

It took Layton a second to recover from that. "Luke—"

But Luke wasn't waiting for any platitudes. "I heard what the Inspector said to you about me. I'm trouble. That's all I am. I'm trouble to all of you." He wrapped his arms around himself. "Can't do anything to help or anything. I shouldn't even be here. J-just making a mess…"

Somewhere in the semi-coherent babbling, Layton was certain that he had finally picked out the root of the disturbance: Chelmey's offhanded comment regarding Luke being a burden. Luke had believed it, in spite of Layton's own words denouncing it as false. It had been quite some time since that conversation had taken place. If Luke had been thinking about it all this time…

Well, doubts and fears did have a tendency to grow and fester like nasty little weeds when left to stew.

"Luke, perhaps you didn't hear what I said to Chelmey, but I will tell you what I told him, and that was that he was dead wrong," Layton said calmly. Be the eye of the storm, both literal and figurative. "You are not, nor have you ever been, any sort of a burden or trouble to me."

"I don't believe you," Luke shot back, though less forceful this time.

"Why not? Do I have a reason to lie to you?"

This time, no reply. Just rain falling.

Now Layton decided to take a risk; he started walking very slowly towards the young man. Luke did not move, thankfully, though he watched every step the man took. "I think it's time we went back. We can talk this out somewhere a bit warmer." It was cold out, and they were both soaked through. There was nothing to be gained by standing out here for any further length of time.

"I just…" Luke's shoulders hunched and he shook his head, finally dropping his eyes. His voice cracked painfully on the words; he seemed to be nearing his breaking point. "Professor, I want to go home…"

Layton quickened his steps, stopping when he was merely an arm's length away, close enough to reach out and touch or grab if need be. "Then why don't we?"

He tensed in surprise when Luke took a step forward and leaned against him, pressing his forehead against the Professor's wet shirt. "I don't even know where home is. Or if anyone's going to be there waiting for me…" His voice cracked again, and Layton wondered if maybe the young man was crying.

He really didn't blame him if he was.

But he needed to say and do something. Luke seemed willing to listen now. "There is a home open to you, though. I know that perhaps it isn't your home, per se, but until we can get you back where you're supposed to be, maybe it can suffice as a substitute?"

A sniffle, then a harsh, muffled voice that indicated that yes, Luke was crying. "I ran…because I d-didn't want to be t-trouble for you and Flora after y-you were so k-kind to me…" It ended in a hiccup. Again, Layton found himself wondering how he would react if his memories, his past, and his very self were stolen from him. And he couldn't bring himself to truly imagine that he would fare much better.

Layton immediately wrapped his arms around the shivering figure in a tight hug. "You aren't. Flora would probably be upset that you'd even thought such a thing." He felt some of the tension leave him when one of Luke's hands grip the back of his shirt. It seemed that Luke was done running for tonight. "Come on, let's go back before we catch cold."

"Okay…" Luke nodded. "Okay…"

It was then that Layton's spine went ramrod straight. Muscles tensed, his heart rate jumped, and the hairs on the back of his neck would have stood straight up if they weren't soaked, and therefore plastered to his skin. His eyes slid from side to side, surveying the scenery around them.

He was being watched.

…no, that was incorrect. _They _were being watched.

Layton glanced back down at the young man leaning against him. Was it the same person responsible for the incident with the window? Because if it was, they were not a friend. And Layton had a hunch that whoever was responsible was also somehow related to Luke's mysterious appearance here.

Which meant that they were potentially in danger.

He grabbed Luke's arm and started walking. "Luke, we're going home."

"But—"

"Now."

There was no time for manners or explanations, and it reflected in the harsh snap of that last word. He was not tolerating arguments or resistance. Every moment they stayed out there was more dangerous than the last; that's what the Professor's instincts were telling him, and he had long since learned to trust his gut and let it guide him during uncertain moments.

It seemed that Luke realized that whatever was spurring the Professor's movements, it was serious, and so he did not resist or protest. He merely followed, and quickly. They were walking as fast as was possible without breaking out into an all-out run. And in short order, they reached the back door of the brownstone that housed Layton's home and office.

The Professor shoved Luke in ahead of him before hurrying in himself, closing the door behind him and locking it. He stared at it for a moment, trying to catch his breath.

"P-Professor?" Luke finally spoke up. "What's going on?"

"Luke," Layton said in that same curt voice, "take your bag and go upstairs to your room. Go to bed. Make sure you lock your door. I'll explain tomorrow." He would apologize for his brusque orders at the same time, probably over breakfast, but right now he needed to make certain that the children were safe, and that took priority over all else.

Again, Luke seemed to understand that now was not the time to argue. There was a rustle and a thunk as the fallen messenger bag was recovered from the floor, and then soft footsteps as Luke made his way from the kitchen towards the stairs. Layton cast one last look at the back door before he turned to follow. On the way, he checked the windows and the front door; all were securely locked, although experience had now shown that a locked window did not necessarily mean safety.

Still, it was better than nothing.

Satisfied, Layton followed Luke up the stairs, and remained in the hallway until he heard the click of a lock signal that Luke was safely shut in for the night. He also paused to carefully make sure that Flora's door was similarly closed before going to his own room and seeking his own bed.

It was quite some time before sleep took him that night.

**_-o-_**

It wasn't that Layton wanted to get away from the children; he loved them both as dearly as if they were his own flesh and blood. It was more that he just wanted some fresh air and some time to think. Hence, he had declined Flora's invitation to accompany him to the store, and gone alone.

But in the back of his mind, he was still a bit worried. It had been three nights since Luke's escape attempt, and while their conversation and Luke's subsequent return to the home had actually seemed to do a great deal of good for the boy, the uneasy feeling of that night had not left Layton yet.

For his part, Luke had seemed a good deal happier since that confrontation. Perhaps being aware that the Professor was serious when he said that he cared and that his home was Luke's home had helped. He was acting more like the person he had been, much to Flora's delight.

Still, Layton remembered that awful feeling, the sensation that someone was watching him. And worse was the fact that in the passing days, the feeling had not gone away. If anything, it was getting worse. When he walked outside or passed by the window, the hair on the back of his neck stood at attention and reminded him that something was not right in the world.

It was for that reason in particular, along with several other smaller reasons, that Layton had left Flora was explicit instructions to lock the door after he left. She was not to open it to anyone they did not know or trust. The warning was probably unnecessary, as she was a smart girl, but she listened and nodded and agreed. She understood.

With the grocery basket tucked safely under his arm, Layton made his way through the darkened streets of London. Truth be told, he was in no great hurry to get home just yet. The night air was warm and pleasant, as summer nights often were, and oddly enough, the feeling of being watched had vanished. He had not felt it at all today, not even when he left the house on this errand. It was a relief, though he was not so naïve as to think that this was the end of it.

Things frequently had a tendency to get a bit calmer before the true storm set in.

Still, he did have a lot to think about. And most of it, at the moment, centered around Luke.

Luke's parents were on their way to retrieve him, Chelmey had said. And it sounded like they were eager to see him again. It was a good thing, Layton knew, that Luke could and would be reunited with his family soon. He would be going back where he was supposed to be.

Although the Professor couldn't quite shake off what Chelmey had told him during one of their earliest discussions on the matter at hand: that Luke had not been settling well into his new home, and it had been coming out in the form of troublemaking, some of it quite serious.

What was it about his new home that was making Luke behave like that? And was there anything he could do to help the young man? Those were two important questions for him to puzzle over, and it went without saying that Professor Layton had always enjoyed puzzling things. But with this puzzle, he was not entirely certain that any answers he could come up with would be satisfactory.

…and if he were being completely honest with himself, he would admit that he enjoyed having Luke back in his care and back in his company. He had missed his young apprentice. In spite of the problems that had plagued them since his return, having both children in the house again and making noise and doing those strange age-appropriate things felt very happy, and oddly nostalgic.

He chuckled to himself, laughing at his own private joke. He was woolgathering again, and doting like a grandfather on two children that were not his by blood. Did this mean that he was getting old? Flora would have a field day with that idea, and Luke would probably find it amusing.

Although in retrospect, that was the boy who had once looked absolutely horrified when someone had made the comment that Layton was getting older; apparently, the idea that the Professor would eventually grow old and die had not occurred to him. The minds of children worked in such odd ways.

Ah, but it was getting late. He should get home. He was rather glad he had decided to walk tonight instead of drive. The air had done wonders to clear his head and let him think things out.

As he walked up the front steps, he glanced towards the front window. The light was on; they must still be up. Perhaps some sort of a snack or treat would be in order before he sent them off to bed. After they helped put the groceries away, of course.

He had just withdrawn his key and was reaching it towards the lock when the door opened in front of him. One of them must have seen him coming and opened the door to him. He pushed it open the rest of the way and stepped past it, shifting to adjust the basket under his arm. "Hello—"

Layton heard Luke's voice: "Professor, look out!"

There was a thunder of footsteps.

And then something smashed into the side of his head.

The last thing Layton remembered as he hit the ground was hearing the sound of breaking eggs and thudding footsteps and Flora's scream. After that, he knew nothing.


	6. Loyalty and Betrayal

**AN: **An update? What is this? This fic is one of my areas o' focus for this year's NaNoWriMo challenge, along with my fanfic100 claim for this series (and a few other miscellaneous things as well). So yes, I am going to finish this fic. Hopefully this month. Hope you enjoy the new chapter, and thanks for reading, all! Much love!

**Loyalty and Betrayal**

"I don't know how you bloody managed this one, Layton," Chelmey huffed from his position in the doorway. He was leaning against the frame, watching with a frown as Layton sat on the couch, holding a cold compress against his forehead and nursing what was now a lukewarm cup of tea.

"I assure you, my good inspector, I had no intention of receiving a concussion tonight, but trouble seems to be following me to my doorstep as of late," Layton said. The levity of his tone belied the gravity of the situation, and his expression was not particularly amused by any of it.

What an evening it had been. All he had done was step out to pick up a few things, leaving the children at home with strict instructions not to open the door to anyone they did not know. He had come home and walked inside to hear Flora scream and receive a blow to the head that had left him unconscious on the floor just inside his own front door.

His landlady had been passing by. She had seen the open door, come closer to investigate, and found him sprawled there. Alarmed, she had summoned the police and set about attempting to revive him. By the time Chelmey and his men had arrived, Layton had come around and had managed to stumble over to the couch. His landlady prepared the tea for him, and gave her story to the police, who had then permitted her to leave with a promise to be in touch if they had any further inquiries. A doctor had been summoned to see if Layton had sustained any serious injuries.

And then children were gone.

Luke and Flora were missing.

That was really all Layton could think about as he sat there, absently sipping at the weak tea and trying to remember any details that could give him a clue. But his best efforts only seemed to result in more and more of a headache. A pity that he had yet to figure out how to stop thinking.

As the police examined what they were now calling the crime scene (and wasn't that becoming an uncomfortably common occurrence in Layton's world), a disturbing discovery was made, one that Chelmey related to him with a grim expression.

There was no sign of forced entry at the front door. None whatsoever.

Which meant that either one of the perpetrators had somehow acquired a key to Layton's home, or the children had opened the door to someone of their own free will. The former option seemed rather unlikely, which meant that the latter was the most probable. And that opened up a whole new can of worms, one which Layton was even more loathe to think about.

Luke and Flora would not have opened that door to a stranger. Not under the present circumstances, and not when he had given them such explicit instructions. Neither of them was stupid. They knew there was danger, and they knew what was potentially at stake.

So who had been on the other side of that door? Someone they knew, and someone they thought they could trust, and someone who had subsequently betrayed them. The big dark question was...who?

Suddenly unable to sit still any longer, Layton stumbled to his feet and staggered out into the hallway, where two officers were still examining the entryway. There was a small red stain on the doormat, a dark red blotch that Layton knew was his own blood. Beside it was a large rock, apparently the instrument used to bludgeon him. He winced at the sight, and immediately regretted it as the small act set the war drums beating inside his skull again.

Another officer was informing Chelmey of a ransom note found on the table. Layton half-listened to the brief chat between the two men, and barely even glanced at the paper as it was held out for his own inspection. All he really needed to know about it came in form of a muttered "Damn..." from Inspector Chelmey, who for once seemed at a loss for words.

Layton glanced around, still trying to piece things together around his headache. He happened to glance down, and noticed the light reflecting off something under the table by the door, where the note had been found. It seemed that the officer who was inspecting that area had found the note first, and gone to inform the inspector, and thus had not really gotten to look at the area terribly closely yet.

With great care, Layton knelt down for a closer look; he withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and used that to pull the item from beneath the small table. "Inspector!" he called as he did so, and once again the imps in his brain began chewing on the interior of his skull.

His head really hurt.

Chelmey was there in an instant. "What did you find?"

Layton rose and held the small, shiny item up, carefully inspecting it. It was something extremely familiar, but where had he seen it before. After a moment, it clicked into place, and his stomach dropped into his shoes.

He turned and showed the item to Chelmey, who looked lost as to its significance. "It pains me to say this, Inspector," Layton said solemnly, "but I know exactly who Luke and Flora opened the door to."

**_-o-_**

His eyes wouldn't open. His fingers were numb. His mouth felt like he'd been sucking on a cotton ball for a while. And everything just flat out hurt. In short, Luke was not a terribly happy boy.

As the world gradually crept back into focus, he became aware of someone beside him. A little bit of shifting and some squinting led him to realize that it was Flora. She was not moving, but he could hear her breathing. For the moment, at least, she seemed to be all right. He sighed in relief at that, and then went back to assessing his own situation.

He quickly realized that his hands were bound behind him, and his feet were bound at the ankles. His mouth felt like he'd been sucking on cotton because truthfully, he had been; a rough piece of cloth had been shoved into his mouth and taped in place to serve as a gag.

As he struggled to achieve some sort of control over his body, he realized that all of this felt familiar. Everything from the moment those men had come into the professor's house to this moment now, waking up completely helpless in a strange place...it was all like a bad case of deja vu.

A moment later, he heard heavy footsteps moving. A little more squinting told him that he and Flora were in a small room behind a closed door, and the footsteps were moving beyond the wall by the door.

An involuntary shudder ran through the young man. He knew those footsteps somehow. He knew this whole situation, though he didn't quite grasp how. All he knew was that a dark room and those heavy footfalls meant pain. Danger.

Behind him, Flora stirred slightly.

The door began to open.

Luke wanted the Professor.

Luke wanted to go home.

**_-o-_**

"Good heavens, Hershel, you're lucky this isn't worse than it is!" Doctor Kelly fussed over the dark blotch on Layton's forehead. "I saw the rock on my way in. It's a wonder you're standing up at all with something like that hitting you in the head!"

Layton sat still, allowing the doctor to examine him and tut-tut over his injury. The rock had broken the skin, resulting in a small cut, and there was a shiner of a bruise there that would probably not completely go away for some time, and chances were that he would have some headaches, but overall, he'd been lucky. He wasn't showing any signs of a concussion.

"I appreciate you coming over on such short notice, Doctor," Layton said quietly.

"It seems to be a regular occurrence as of late," Kelly said with no malevolence. "Perhaps I should take up residence here for a time. Save us all a bit of time and travel." He finished applying the plaster to the bruise and stepped back with a sigh. "Those poor children...god wiling they're safe, wherever they are."

"Thank you," the professor said. He took a deep breath to steel himself, and decided that now was as good a time as any to drop the bomb. "I must ask you, doctor...where are your spectacles? I think this is the first time I've ever seen you without them."

Kelly looked surprised, put a hand to his forehead to find that his glasses were, indeed, not on their usual perch, and shrugged. "I must have left them at home. The phone call I got from your charming landlady was rather frantic, so I was in a bit of a hurry to get here."

Layton shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid that's not true, Doctor. Because I found them inside this house." He held up the handkerchief; nestled inside it were the doctor's spectacles, the object he had found under the table in the front entrance of his home.

Rising to his feet, Layton steadied himself before he looked his doctor and long-time friend squarely in the eye. Kelly looked stunned as Layton pointed an accusatory finger at him. "I'm afraid it was you, Doctor, who Luke and Flora opened the door to this evening."


	7. Removal and Retrieval

**AN:** Another chapter? WHY YES IT IS! Writing that last chapter got me back into it, and I want to get to my ending. I was a little torn on one detail of it (I have since decided to go with what I think would be the most badass option, yo), but otherwise, it's been planned since I started this fic eons and eons ago.

Hope you enjoy the chapter! I don't own Professor Layton. Much love!

**Removal and Retrieval**

Doctor Kelly stared at Layton in shock. His eyes kept swinging back and forth between the finger pointed at him, and the spectacles nestled within a white handkerchief, safely clutched in Layton's palm. "Hershel, surely you must be joking!" the doctor said with a nervous laugh. "I would never..."

"I know you wouldn't," Layton said solemnly, lowering his arm to his side. "Which is why I'm asking you to tell me what happened. They must have used some sort of extortion against you, Doctor. Threatened you, perhaps. I can't say for sure, unless you tell me the truth."

Kelly visibly hesitated, then dropped down to sit on the couch. "I didn't want...Hershel, I swear to you..."

"Tell us the truth," Layton said, his tone softening.

After a moment, the doctor spoke. "I was approached by some men. There were four of them. They said they needed my assistance in procuring a runaway boy. When they told me who they were after, I knew who they were immediately, and I refused. Told them I would call the police. And one of them asked me about my granddaughter..." He closed his eyes. "Anita...she'll be four this winter." His eyes snapped open again and he looked entreatingly at Layton. "They threatened my granddaughter, Hershel. What was I to do? They could tell me exactly where to find her."

Layton nodded. He was truthfully rather upset (to say the least), but he had known the good doctor for many years. He had never known the man to be malicious, or any sort of a liar. If this was what he said happened, then Layton believed him, and despite his own worry over his own children, he could not bring himself to find any sort of fault with Kelly's motives. Besides, ultimately the reason didn't matter. They could deal with all of this once the children were safe and the responsible parties were in custody. Until that happened, everything else was moot.

"They spoke in front of me. I suspect they didn't think I was listening," Kelly went on.

Now Chelmey spoke up, aggressive and aggravated. "What did they say? By god, you tell us everything you know or I'll have you down to the station in handcuffs, and good luck explaining that to your granddaughter!" He was waving a fist in the air by the time he had finished speaking, and Layton had to make a gesture to calm the inspector down.

"One of them asked about the girl. I presume that they meant Miss Flora. There was talk of ransom. Two children instead of one means two ransoms instead of one. More money. That's what they're after. Money. Exchanging children's lives for money..." Kelly shook his head. "One of them mentioned an abandoned building. Said something about the old district, and shoes."

"One of the empty shops in the old district used to be a cobbler's shop," Layton supplied. "I went there a few times in my youth, before the proprietor retired and closed the shop. That was around the time the whole district fell into disrepair, and it was never reopened. It would be an excellent place to hide out with two children. Not many people go there these days."

"Are you certain that this what they said?" Chelmey demanded.

The doctor looked outright miserable. "I swear to you. Their plan is brilliant, but they don't strike me as the brightest individuals on the planet." He glanced at Layton. "I don't think they have intention of harming the children, at least not yet. One of them mentioned possible proof of life. Again, Hershel. The plan itself was incredible, but I wonder how much of their success was just them getting extremely lucky as they stumbled along."

"Perhaps a case of one man as the brain, and the rest as the muscle?" Layton mused. His head was still pounding, but he was encouraged by the development. At the moment, at least, the children were conceivably still alive. That meant there was time.

By this point Chelmey was barking orders to some of the investigating officers to go rally back-up. "We're going now. They won't be expecting us. Hit 'em while they're not looking."

Layton immediately grabbed for his hat and coat. "I'll be accompanying you, Inspector."

Doctor Kelly was on his feet as well. "As will I."

Chelmey opened his mouth, probably to object, but closed it again. He knew well enough how stubborn Layton could be, particularly when those kids were involved. His activity regarding Luke's mysterious disappearance and reappearance had made that much clear. And having a doctor there could be extremely useful, although he would have to haul the man in for questioning as soon as it was over. He informed the doctor of such.

Kelly looked down. "I understand. I am sorry, Inspector. Hershel."

Layton nodded. "Let's go find the children."

**_-o-_**

As the door closed again, Luke squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath in an attempt to hold the tears back. It had the opposite effect, as it made his ribs flare up painfully, and he gasped and sputtered as the warm trails rain down his cheeks.

It hurt so damn much. His stomach and chest were searing with pain. He wondered if his ribs were broken. A swift kick with a heavy boot was definitely capable of such an injury, he was sure.

He didn't know who that man was. He just knew that it was someone who apparently knew him, and who was not pleased. He suspected that it was one of the men who had brought him here in the first place, if the vague comments he had made were any indication. If he could just remember something, anything...!

Luke turned his head. Flora was sitting on the floor, her back pressed against the wall, hands behind her; they hadn't touched her at all, a fact for which he was extremely grateful. Her eyes were wide and brimming with her own tears; she looked horribly pale, and absolutely terrified. She had been forced to watch as the man had attacked him.

Somehow, that made Luke more angry than anything else. Flora hadn't done anything wrong. She couldn't possibly have anything to do with this. Why had they dragged her along, forced her through this? Even Luke himself was startled at the depths of his protective instincts towards a girl he had only consciously known for a short time, but felt as though he had known for far longer.

Furious and in pain and at a loss, Luke tried to think. Finally, he managed to wriggle himself into a sitting position, an effort that cost him dearly. Were his ribs bruised or outright broken? It didn't matter. They had to do something. It took a bit of time, but he managed to scoot over next to Flora. "F-Flora, listen..." he gasped. "We need to get loose." That was as far as he got before the pain erupted again and his breath was lost to pained panting.

Flora glanced around, and he could almost hear the gears turning between her ears. She might have been scared, and she might have been crying, but she hadn't been living under the same roof as Professor Layton for all this time without learning a thing or six about critical thinking.

And finally, she managed a tremulous smile. "I have an idea," she whispered.

**-o-**

There was a surprisingly large number of police officers in attendance for this event. Still, it wasn't every day that there was a raid on an abandoned building to rescue two kidnapped children from the Bad Guys, and many of the officers were probably excited to be a part of it, even if the extent of being a part of it for some of them consisted of sitting outside looking menacing.

Provided all went well, of course. They had reason to suspect that the men involved were armed to some degree or another. The safety of Luke and Flora, the two victims, was the primary objective. Apprehending the suspects (safely or injured) was secondary. The rest consisted of details.

As they drew in, quietly and carefully, Layton stayed as close to the front as he could. Doctor Kelly had offered a painkiller, which was doing a splendid job of holding the headache at bay (although the doctor had warned that it would only help for a while, and the real treatment was to go home, sleep it off, and call him in the morning). He understood the need for stealth and taking the time for proper preparations, but even Layton's patience (which bordered on the legendary) was strained.

Finally, the signal was given, and the first wave, armed and clad in protective gear, because to creep into the building. They apprehended one man, presumably a lookout. He had fallen asleep in a chair just inside the store; the police were able to grab him and get him outside before he could raise any sort of alert to his fellow kidnappers.

They weren't so lucky with the second man they encountered. He came around a corner, saw the assembled officers, threw something at them, let out a yell, and turned tail and ran towards the back stairs. As stealth was now more or less shot to pieces, they charged and grabbed the man. Now to find the children...

That was when things went horribly, horribly wrong.

* * *

**AN:** _Ahaha…short chapter is short? I debated over whether or not to end it there or to keep going, but I wanted to update the fic, and hey, EVERYBODY LOVES CLIFFHANGERS, AMIRITE? /shot_

_Anyway, next chapter shouldn't be too long in coming, since it was one of the two scenes that sparked this fic in the first place, and as such has been extremely clear in my head for an extremely long time. I hope you'll stick around, since it's the big climax and promises to be…well, I won't say anything more._

_Thanks for reading, all! Much love!_


	8. Defeat and Victory

**AN:** Why yes, I am updating this story. Here we go, the big one. I've had this scene in my head since I started the story, and part of the reason I de-anoned with this after leaving it unfinished for so long is because I wanted to get to this part.

It looks like there will be two more chapters after this one. Hope you enjoy it! I don't own Professor Layton.

**Defeat and Victory**

"Luke, do you hear that?" Flora said in a whisper. It had taken a bit of maneuvering, given that Luke's injuries were making it difficult for him to move, but they had managed to get each other loose. She was pushing the ropes from her ankles and helping Luke to do the same.

Luke's eyes were glazed in pain, his face completely drained of color. He glanced towards the door. Indeed, there were loud noises from outside. Sounds of men yelling, crashes, swearing. It was a far cry from the silence of the last several hours. What was going on? Flora huddled close to Luke, their eyes glued on the door, waiting and sensing that finally, something was happening…

The door flew open with a bang, and a man rushed in. He had a knife in one hand, and a wild look in his eyes. He dove at them. Luke was closer. Before Flora could even react, the man had grabbed Luke by the arm and hauled him to his feet, ignoring the young man's cry of pain as he dragged him from the room. Flora tried to grab after him, but the man whirled around and swung his free, knife-wielding hand at her. The blow caught her squarely in the side of the head, knocking her down and stunning her momentarily. While sparks danced in front of her eyes, the man pulled Luke from the room.

A moment later, a thunder of footsteps charged into the room. She let out a tiny cry as a cacophony of voices infiltrated her now-aching head, and another cry as rough hands pulled her from the ground. She was swept, quite literally, off her feet into a pair of strong arms. Still trying to clear her eyes from the blow, Flora did the only thing she could: she wrapped her arms around her bearer's neck and held on for dear life.

And then there was a loud bang and there were lights in her eyes, setting the war-drums pounding inside her head once again. But through eyes that were rapidly filling with tears, she saw a blessedly familiar face watching from the crowd. "PROFESSOR!" she heard herself yell, and then she was pushing at the person carrying her in a desperate attempt to get free and get to the safety of her guardian's presence.

Her rescuer obligingly released her, setting her feet on the ground so she could run across the short distance and fling herself into Professor Layton's waiting arms. She was babbling, terrified and hurting, and Professor she didn't know where they had taken Luke they had hurt Luke and then a man had taken him away and…

There was a loud yell behind her, and she turned, squinting through the light to see the source of it.

Her heart stopped.

**_-o-_**

Seeing Flora running towards him, terrified and crying but seemingly otherwise unharmed, made Layton let out a breath he hadn't even realized that he'd been holding. He opened his arms and she ran straight into the safety they offered. That was one of his children safe and sound.

A moment later, Luke appeared as well.

The scene before him was like something out of Layton's nightmares.

Luke was there, indeed, but he wasn't alone. There was a man there, a man Layton had never seen before. He had one arm looped tightly around Luke's shoulders, keeping the young man pressed against him. His other hand held a knife, pointedly at Luke's chin. There was no mistaking the madness in his eyes, either.

And Luke. Luke, who seemed to be barely keeping on his feet. Luke, whose face was the same pasty white color as Flora's last cooking experiment. Luke, who was staring at him with unmasked terror.

And the man was shouting demands - to be released, no one had better stop him, don't force him to hurt the kid because he would do it.

Layton stood, frozen by an uncharacteristic fog of indecision. What could he do?

Luke chose that moment to shift in the man's hold. The man responded by giving the boy a sharp jerk. "Keep still, brat!" he rumbled. "You'll do as I say if you want to live."

Luke gasped at the sudden movement. And as Layton stared at him (for his attention was solely on Luke and not on the madman threatening him), he saw Luke's eyes widen, and a strange look came into them. His breath seemed to catch, and a number of expressions flickered across his features, each one different from the last.

What was happening?

**_-o-_**

_"You'll do as I say if you want to live."_

_They said that to him at least once a day. Not that he hadn't already gathered that much from simple circumstances. He had nowhere to go. Doing as he was told seemed to be in his best interests. So he nodded and stayed quiet, watching and waiting and noting things and biding his time._

_They quickly came to the conclusion that he was stupid. He should have been insulted, but as long as they were convinced that he was a fool, he was safe. And sooner or later there would be an opportunity._

_He just had to watch, and wait._

**_-o-_**

Luke lifted his head and stared at the crowd, his eyes narrowing in on two people. A girl in a pink dress, and the man in the brown suit. He met Layton's eyes, and for a moment the entire rest of the world ceased to exist. Something passed between them in that moment.

"Professor…" Luke said softly, knowing the man in the hat would hear him. Then he made his choice.

He was tired of this. He was tired of being a victim. And he was done with it.

Taking as deep a breath as his ribs would allow, he grabbed his attacker's arm - the hand holding the knife - and began to struggle.

He was smaller and weaker than his assailant, but he had both the element of surprise and the element of desperation on his side, and that worked to his advantage. The man fought back, screaming obscenities as he tried to keep a grip on the knife.

The struggle for the knife felt like it lasted hours, but in reality it was only a matter of seconds. And it ended when Luke suddenly arched and let himself fall backwards. His attacker, startled by the move, fell with him. Luke jerked his hand away and flung his arm in a wide arch…

And the knife bounced across the pavement.

In a moment of utter desperation, an injured Luke had managed to disarm his attacker.

Realizing what had happened, the kidnapper grabbed at Luke's throat and began to choke the boy. But he didn't get very far in that endeavor. There was a flurry of movement as police began running forward to apprehend their final suspect and rescue the second victim. But to the absolute shock of everyone present, someone else got to the kidnapper first.

A slender hand grabbed the man by the hair and pulled his head back. And before he realized who it was or what was happening, Flora Reinhold hauled back and punched the man squarely across the jaw, hard enough to knock him off Luke and flat to the pavement.

She stepped back, shaking the hand she had used to strike the man as though it hurt. Her eyes were blazing with anger and tears. And then she fell to her knees at Luke's side, trying to help him sit up as Layton reached them and the police reached the kidnapper.

There were medical personnel trying to get at Luke and Flora to see that they were all right, but they were having difficulty gaining access to the children. Both Luke and Flora were too busy clinging to Professor Layton, who was holding onto them just as tightly.

There was still much work to be done. Testimony to be taken, medical treatment to be received, evidence to be gathered. But that could wait just a few more minutes in favor of the more pressing matter of reassurance. For the moment, they were all together again.

For the moment, they were safe.


	9. Delays and Decisions

**AN:** LOOK, AN UPDATE. THIS IS THE AUTHOR'S NOTE. AND THIS IS A DISCLAIMER (I don't it). AND LOOK, A CHAPTER TITLE. AMAZINGNESS!

**Delays and Decisions**

In the days following the raid on the abandoned building, a great many facts came to light.

Once ensconced in police custody, the kidnappers were falling all over themselves to offer up information and make a deal and rat out their companions to save their own skins. Though everyone's stories were slightly different so as to be self-serving, the interviewing officers managed to piece the story together and gain the truth of what had happened to Luke in the intervening months.

The plan itself walked the knife-edge between being brilliant and being insane. The kidnappers had heard of Luke Triton via his association with his esteemed mentor, one Professor Hershel Layton. They knew that Layton himself was a man of means, and it only took a small amount of digging to learn that Luke himself came from a wealthy family. With this information in hand, they began to form a plan.

…and then Luke moved overseas. For a moment it seemed their plan was for nothing, until they realized that this could potentially work to their advantage. So they altered their plans, and set about putting that plan into motion, a plan that Chelmey actually stated was the most ludicrously genius thing he'd ever heard.

The motive, obviously, was money. After following Luke across the water, they waited for the right chance. On a night when Luke's father was not home, one of them snuck into Luke's room and waited for the young man to return. When he did, they made the grab. Luke was small and they had the element of surprise. It wasn't hard to overwhelm the boy, render him unconscious, and take him out the window to their waiting vehicle.

Having done this, they made the ransom demand and waited for payment. Sure enough, Luke's father coughed up the cash. As to how they picked it up without being seen, it was probably the most brilliant part of the plan - one of the men worked in the locker area where the money was dropped off. He had gone into the space behind the lockers and removed the ransom money through a false back in the locker. He left the message in its place, and they were off to the next phase of their plan - sneaking Luke out of the country and returning him to London.

Why so extreme? Simple, to their minds. Two ransoms instead of one. Obviously Luke's parents would pay for his safe return. Everything they knew of Professor Layton said that he would pay to ensure his former apprentice's safe return. They needed Luke with them in the probable case that Layton demanded some sort of evidence of their claims. They got a friend who captained a large fishing boat in on the plot, and used his vessel for the journey.

By the time Luke had been permitted to regain consciousness (having been kept heavily sedated for ease of holding and transport), he was on a boat bound for the country of his birth with no means of escape. He really had no option but to cooperate with his captors.

It was here, though, that Luke realized that his captors were actually not the brightest crayons in the tool shed. So he decided to see if he could use that fact to his advantage, and did something he had never done before in his life: he played dumb. He went along with everything, and acted as though he didn't have two brain cells to rub together.

At first, they harmed him. He was bound, restrained, and beaten more than once. Once they realized that he had no intention of fighting them, he became a sort of cabin boy - he did as he was told. Eventually, they came to the conclusion that his reputation as Layton's apprentice had been greatly exaggerated, that Luke was an idiot. That was how he wanted it. He couldn't do anything as the situation was now, but he could wait and bide his time and take the chance when it arose.

And it did arise, after they made landfall on English shores. They came up on the far side, getting as close to London as they could. He waited for a moment when their attention was elsewhere (not difficult, as they now believed him a fool), and he made a break for it. They were close enough to London by this point that he could head straight for the city. And if he made it into the city, then his chances were good. He could lose them in the crowd, and then make his way to Layton's home. Layton would help him, no question about it.

But it was on the outskirts of the city that disaster struck. It had started raining, and in his haste, Luke made what he would much later look back on as a very silly mistake. He slipped on some wet grass, and fell into a shallow ditch, striking his head hard enough to render him unconscious. The ditch was deep enough to hide him from his pursuers' eyes, so he lay there until he woke up again.

By the time he woke up, it was night. He was completely soaked. And he had no idea who or where he was. So he began to wander, and only stopped when he found a place that looked familiar - the brownstone building where Layton lived and kept office. The rest, as they say, is history.

Initially, the kidnappers were unaware that there was anything wrong with their young victim. They assumed that he had already told Layton everything. But when nothing happened, they began to conduct their own investigation, and through some legwork, they were able to discover the truth of the matter: Luke had no recollection whatsoever of his harrowing weeks spent on board a boat with no one but his kidnappers for company. Which meant that for the moment, they were safe from any accusation. The plan could still work. And if Layton was actually a witness to Luke's kidnapping, all the better - he would be much more likely to pay, they decided.

The difficulty was getting to Luke. For that, a bit more legwork gave them the good doctor and his beloved grandchild, an easy weakness to exploit. Upon entering the house and finding two children in residence, they took their plan to the next level and decided that two ransoms were better than one - or rather, three were better than two, if one counted the ransom paid by Luke's anxious parents back overseas.

Once they had collected the ransom, they had every intention of releasing Luke in London and making their escape on the boat, headed for parts unknown. All they wanted was the money, and once they had it, they had no further interest in the boy. Murder was not something they were eager to add to their resumes. At least, not until the tables turned, and one of them decided that a knife to Luke's throat was an acceptable threat to make in the face of police.

But the ploy had failed due to a few ill-timed comments reaching Doctor Kelly's ears and the quick actions of law enforcement. Now the kidnappers were cooling their heels in a jail cell, awaiting their fate on both sides of the ocean.

And as for their victims…

**_-o-_**

"You're sure you're all right?" Layton asked again.

Flora managed a ghost of a smile, the expression out of place on her pale face. "I'll be fine, Professor. They didn't harm me, so please don't worry." One hand moved to tug weakly at the blanket that the nurse had tucked around her in the bed. "I'm just tired. I'll feel much better when I can go home." That last was said with a slight wistfulness in her voice.

The Professor sighed. "The doctors want you to rest here tonight. I'll bring you home first thing in the morning." Though Flora was injured by her own account, by Luke's, and by the hospital's medical staff, they asked her to remain overnight for observation, assuring her that it was a formality and she would be released into her guardian's care come the dawn.

She nodded. "I understand." She shifted slightly under the blanket and swallowed hard. "Professor, how is Luke?" her voice shook ever so slightly. "He…they beat him. Badly. He was in a lot of pain."

Thinking of the abbreviated report the doctors had given him regarding Luke's condition made Layton's stomach do a very unpleasant backflip, but he kept himself in check. "His injuries are more severe than yours, but nothing life threatening. He will recover. More importantly, he seems to be well on the way to recovering the memories he lost."

Layton had stopped in to see his former apprentice. Considering the injured ribs and the multitude of other small but painful injuries (including some which had been inflicted long before he had even set foot onto English soil), it was no surprise that the color had drained from the young man's face. There was every indication that he had been beaten, and bruises on his wrists that were testaments to his bound state. There was one bruise that even seemed more like he had been hit with something long and thin, and two imprints in his back that bore the telltale sign of boot treads. The kidnappers, all grown men, had gone out of their way to harm and terrorize the bound, helpless child in their hands.

But more importantly (and perhaps more disturbingly), Luke's mind was attempting to assimilate its newly-recovered memories, and it was neither easy nor pleasant to watch. It was like watching someone in the throes of a violent nightmare, but his eyes were open and he was wide awake. He thrashed and moaned and said things that seemed nonsense to everyone but him…

But he had looked at Layton and called him Professor, and the light was back in his eyes. And the doctor's assured him that this phase would be short-lived and when it was over, he would be fine and in possession of his normal mind.

Thus reassured, he went to see Flora. He would go back to Luke's bedside later, when things had calmed down a bit. He sat with Flora as she gave her testimony to Inspector Chelmey, who actually seemed a bit tickled that she had clocked that kidnapper in the nose. He assured her that the man was nursing a very pretty bruise as a result of her handiwork, a complement that made her smile and blush.

**_-o-_**

Eventually, it was time to go back and see how Luke was getting along. Layton paused outside the door and took a deep breath before entering. The nurse had told him that Luke's "episodes" had more or less passed, but Layton was still a bit uncertain about what he would see when he walked in.

What he saw was Luke sitting up in the bed, leaning back heavily against two thick pillows. One arm was draped loosely, protectively across his torso where his injured ribs were bandaged. His eyes were glued to the sky beyond the open window. He looked pale, drawn, and exhausted; his expression was distant.

When Layton approached the bed, Luke turned and looked at him. "Professor…" he murmured. A strange look glimmered into his eyes, and he turned his head away again. "I…you should leave. Now."

Startled, Layton came closer. "Why do you want me to-" His voice trailed off as he realized what the look in Luke's eyes were: tears.

Tears that he was desperate to hide from his former mentor, so much so that he nearly caused himself further injury by burrowing under the blankets in a hurry with no thoughts for his injured ribs. He let out a hiss of pain, but he didn't stop until only the top of his head was visible under the sheets.

"Luke…" Layton stopped by the bed and reached out to put a hand on Luke's back over the blankets. "It's all right."

"A gentleman doesn't behave like this," came the muffled, hoarse reply. "You said so."

"There are exceptions to every rule, my boy," Layton said. "You've nothing to be ashamed of."

There was a moment where neither made a sound. Then a quiet sob came from under the blankets. It took surprisingly little effort to get Luke to emerge from his cocoon of bedding and let himself be carefully folded into the Professor's arms as weeks' worth of fear and pain and uncertainty came out all at once, inflaming Luke's ribs and soaking the shoulder of Layton's suit jacket.

Oddly enough, neither of them minded a whit.

**_-o-_**

True to their word, the doctors released Flora the morning after the incident. Luke was to remain for another four days for observation and further questioning. Eventually, with the blessing of Inspector Chelmey, the young man was also released from the hospital into Professor Layton's care. He said little, and spent a great deal of time sleeping. Flora fretted at how much weight he was losing (he was already so thin) and how little he spoke (he was saying less now than he had when he'd been without his memories).

Such was the state of affairs when a knock came on the front door of the Layton household one cloudy morning. It was Chelmey, accompanied by two familiar faces.

"Clark. Brenda," Layton said, greeting his old friends and quickly ushering his three visitors inside. "I wish we were meeting again under better circumstances. Luke is in the study."

He, Chelmey, and Flora made themselves scarce for the parent-child reunion, excusing themselves to the kitchen for a cup of tea and an update from Chelmey about the ongoing investigation into the kidnapping. There was no question of guilt, but two police forces on opposite sides of an ocean were communicating and making sure every possible duck was lined up in a neat row before they began their formal proceedings.

It was some time before they were summoned from the kitchen. They were staying at a hotel nearby, and wanted to take Luke with them, to catch up. Although Layton felt a bit uneasy about letting Luke out of his sight (an understandable feeling, he decided, given the circumstances), he really had no actual recourse for denying them. After all, they were his parents, and he was just as safe with them as he was here, if not moreso.

Still, it was not easy for him to watch Luke hobble carefully to the street and climb into the waiting car. Layton sighed and resigned himself to having to say goodbye to Luke again when he inevitably returned to his new home with his parents.

**_-o-_**

For a time, Luke felt like he was two people living inside one mind. There were two sets of memories, two sets of sensations, two sets of feelings and thoughts, and two almost entirely different personalities that were attempting to assimilate within his head. It was exhausting and frustrating and for a time, he was certain that he would go mad.

The hour or so he had spent curled up in the safety of Professor Layton's embrace while he cried out his fears and frustrations and all the pent-up emotions of this whole ordeal had done wonders for how he felt. When his parents had wanted to take him with them, his first instinct had been to protest. He did not want to leave the brownstone. Being here with Layton was safe, familiar, the place where he felt the most comfortable. But…well, they were his parents. So he stayed silent and went with them to the hotel.

All of their questions were more or less what he expect - how did he feel, what had happened, how badly had they hurt him, and the like. He bore it all, and eventually started to relax. These were his parents. They loved him, they had been worried sick about him, and now they had him back safely, having dropped everything to rush back to England for him. And he had missed them without even knowing who they were.

Luke's injuries were painful enough that Clark and Brenda decided not to attempt a return trip until he was in better shape. He spent most of his time with them, safe and comfortable, and actually dreading the day when he was deemed well enough to travel.

**_-o-_**

Shortly before the time the Triton family was scheduled to board the ship for home, Brenda appeared once more at the Layton household. She asked Layton if he might have a moment of time that he could spare to speak with her.

She had a favor to ask of him.

* * *

**PS**. _This is what we in the biz call the penultimate chapter. There will be one more part to wrap this story up, and then it will finally be put to rest. I really wanted to give Brenda and Clark a bigger part in the story, but I haven't actually seen them in game, and so I do not know their characters. I hope you'll tune in for the final chapter. Thanks for reading, all! Much love!_


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